Forget how he feels about the Baltimore Sun. David Simon hates “CSI.” This whole season is like a backhanded bitch-slap to Team Bruckheimer. I like how the titillation of the mythical serial killer — he makes phone calls! he taunts! — runs headlong into cruel reality when Bunk and Kima visit the crime lab and see, firsthand, what happens when you eliminate Latin from the high school curriculum. It was a plot twist right out of “Idiocracy,” only funnier because, you know, it’s true (enough).

Seriously, though, that’s what chaps any thinking person about today’s violence-porn TV procedurals. Even in Vegas they don’t have the money to throw 17 crime-lab techs at a series of john robberies (that is, clients of prostitutes who wake up after a tryst and find their wallets missing). The reality: The freezer breaks down and six months’ worth of blood samples are lost in the thaw. The temp scrambles the trace evidence. And people, if you take nothing else away from this blog, take this: DNA SAMPLES TAKE WEEKS TO CULTURE, ANALYZE AND PROCESS. The next time Marg Helgenberger says, “I’ll put a rush on it for you,” tell her she’s a liar. You’ll feel better.

Otherwise, I finally found a false note I can unequivocally dislike: Drunks talking to statues belongs in “CSI,” not “The Wire.” But given that it came in an episode that featured Nick Sobotka’s Toothless Revenge and Omar’s doctoring of his own broken leg, well, I can forgive.